


Numb to the Feeling

by Schattenmalerin



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Asphyxiation, BDSM, Bondage, Dark Klaus, Diego can't handle Klaus or himself, Dom/sub, Hurt No Comfort, I'm serious this is dark, Klaus and Diego do not have a healthy good relationship!, Klaus is a bit of a masochistic Dom in this one, Klaus is too far gone for any help, Klaus is verbally/emotionally abusive toward Diego, M/M, Manipulative Klaus, and when I say dark I mean pitch black, but there are sexual undertones, dub-con (mentioned slightly), he has (self)destructive tendencies, more mindgames than actual sex tbh, they're both fucked up, unhealthy coping with everything basically, verbal abuse on both sides tbh (though Klaus doesn't give a fuck)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-04-01
Packaged: 2019-12-30 05:11:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18308861
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schattenmalerin/pseuds/Schattenmalerin
Summary: "Sh-shu-shu-S-"There is a sick pleasure boiling under his skin at having him like this. A sick pleasure at imagining to talk him further down, robbing him of his confidence, stripping him naked with all his fears and insecurities out in the open, presented so easily to him, just for Klaus to tear him apart piece by piece to his heart's content. At his mercy. At his disposal.His cock twitches in his tight leather pants, pressing into the other's thigh, and he wonders just how far he can push this idea.





	Numb to the Feeling

**Author's Note:**

> Okay guys. I had this one lying around on my laptop for about a few weeks now, unsure if it should be posted or not. It's not the usual type of story I write, but I just had my "I need to write some angsty, dark smut"-phase and basically Diego/Klaus just screamed at me to use them for this kind of "plot idea".  
> To be honest, it turned out more on the "angsty, dark" part than the actual "smut" part, but there are enough sexual undertones.  
> Beware the tags, because this is probably not something you should read if you want to have a nice little story in between.  
> Plays in an AU where they stopped the Apocalypse, but without traveling back in time. So they're still around 30 and it's like around 3 years after the prevention of the Apocalypse.
> 
> Inspiration was Numb to the Feeling by Chase Atlantic, which was played on repeat for the whole writing session ^^

 

 **_My tolerance is going up, and I'm getting numb to the feeling_ **  
**_And I've been abusing drugs, I'm getting numb to the feeling_ **  
**_I need you to show me love, cause I'm getting numb to the feeling_ **  
**_I need you to ride me harder when we fuck, cause I'm getting numb to the feeling_ **  
**_~[Numb to the Feeling by Chase Atlantic](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=p1Z0CNqSV6c)~_ **

  
The ropes are not tight enough.  
They're wrapped around his slender wrists, pressing into the skin beneath them, right over the red marks from all the times before. It's robust, restricts his movement completely, still they aren't tight enough for Klaus.  
Nothing is lately. Tight enough, hard enough, painful enough, _vivid_ enough.  
His body craves for a new high, a better high, a thrill more intense than all the others before. His mind needs it, to get out of that endless circle of emotional hurt and fear and grief he's living in since he can think. He needs someone to break that circle.  
Someone to break _him_.

He tugs at the rope, hinting at his hands. "Tighter."

He holds the eye contact with his current "Master", even as he sees the disapproval in them. Especially when he sees that expression in those brown eyes. That means he's going to get somewhere.

"I said tighter!"

In the past he'd really been a good slave. Obedient and so submissive, so willing to await eagerly what his Dom was going to give him, do to him.  
Nowadays it's different. There's no excitement anymore in being obedient, no thrill in awaiting his punishment, no being-on-edge by being disciplined or almost-getting-off on being called humiliating names. There is no appeal in those simple shenanigans, in playful, teasing foreplay anymore. There is only the search, the need for that high, the rush to feel ecstatic, to _feel_ at all. And the only way to that high is through tied wrists, sharp edges scratching against his skin, hands wrapped around his throat and a hard cock fucking him senseless.  
Right now he only had one of those four things and even that isn't done to his satisfaction.

"That's not your decision to make," his Master retorts, voice harsh. No stuttering, albeit his body language betrays him. Klaus can see it, the brief, dry swallow, eyes twitching between him and the rope, hands fumbling with the button on his leather pants, trembling the oh-so-slightest.

His Master is hesitant, insecure where Klaus isn't and he's using that knowledge to his advantage, keeping a firm glare at him, a demanding one, not fitting for the position he's in at all. Then again, they both doing a miserable job at living up to their current roles, so fuck that.

Klaus knows he won as his Master's hands vanish from his pants and he bends over him, checking the ropes in feigned consideration.  
"It's tight enough," and Klaus isn't surprised about that answer, knows that his Master is only playing along, not in the slightest willing to fulfill his wish for a tighter knot.

That's okay though. Klaus expected that, had planned ahead.  
So when his Master wants to back away, there are already two long, scrawny legs wrapped around his hips, pushing up against him in a seductive motion, feeling the hardness in those black jeans rubbing against his own half-hard cock.  
He swallows the breathy moan of his Master with his own mouth, letting their lips collide in the way he knows will make the other weak.

Wondering when exactly kissing became work for him, a means to an end, he works his magic: Lick over his bottom lip. Then take said lip between your teeth. Nip playfully on it for a second, maybe two. Then bite the lip, a little harder. Let him moan into your mouth. Go back to the start. Lick over his bottom lip, apologetic, before opening his lips with your own. Let your tongue glide into his mouth. Prod your tongue against his shortly, before dancing around his. Play with him. Let him take the lead for five to ten seconds. Don't forget to let out a moan of your own. Make him feel powerful, but get him addicted. Then push his tongue back, coyly, but with subtle dominance. Explore his mouth. Let him sigh against your lips. Get him responsive to you. Retreat with a last tip against his tongue. Let him follow your mouth, addicted and needy. Now, _play with his heart_.

"Surprised you didn't stutter out your words, _Master_ ," Klaus whispers against the kiss-swollen lips, intentionally cheeky, "Seeing as you look rather… _out of control_. Need me to take over for a while?"

Brown eyes stare down at him, blown wide with desire and want from the kiss, now mixed with fragments of confusion and uncertainty at the unusual offer.

Klaus sighs inwardly, but plays his role for now, feigning his most seductive "I've been a bad boy, punish me"-face, giving his Master a last chance to actually behave as his title is requiring him to.

"Don't talk back at me like that." Harsh tone, low timbre. Dom-material. The short pause and hesitant gnaw at his lip though show his incompetence and the insult comes out without much conviction. "You needy cockslut."

Klaus suppresses both an irritated eye-roll and the triumphant laugh, faintly remembering a time where _these words_ out of _that mouth_ could have easily pushed him over the edge. Oh how times changed.

"You despise me that much you get off on calling me such degrading names?" His fake " _hurt, broken and self-conscious_ "-act is on point, he sees it in the way the brown eyes widen in shock, guilt-tripped.  
Klaus plays into his Master's insecurities, _playing him like a fiddle_ \- and hell, if this wouldn't make that bitch Vanya proud.

"I-I-I … I d-di-di- I didn't m-mea-"

Just like his Master plays into his hands.  
Jackpot.

"Look at you, stuttering like a little school boy." No need to further swallow down the scornful snort. "How did Mum help you through your little problem again? Oh right, I remember… _Just picture the word inside your head_. So how's that working for you now, hm?"

He gets personal, because this is what gets his Master. What makes him lose all restraints and reason. What makes him push his body hard against the bed, one hand in his sweaty hair, tugging at a few strands. _Not hard enough._

"Sh-shu-shu- S-"

There is a sick pleasure boiling under his skin at having him like this. A sick pleasure at imagining to talk him further down, robbing him of his confidence, stripping him naked with all his fears and insecurities out in the open, presented so easily to him, just for Klaus to tear him apart piece by piece to his heart's content. At his mercy. At his disposal.  
His cock twitches in his tight leather pants, pressing into the other's thigh, and he wonders just how far he can push this idea.

"Oh well, you never were one of the intelligent Hargreeves."

"Sh-shut up, asshole!"  
And the grip on his hair gets tighter, rougher, making his scalp tingle with the ecstatic rush of pleasurable pain shooting through his braincells and nerves, adding up to the hardness between his legs. He hears his heart beating in his ears, craving for more of that sweet pain - and hearts are a strange kind of thing, really.

Klaus' heart _was_ a strange kind of thing. Always so easily opened up by others, so effortlessly to enter and to get comfortable in it. Always filled with so many people, he couldn't even keep count, couldn't even hear his own voice in there. Couldn't pay attention to everyone walking around in there, couldn't watch out for everyone to not behave rude or accidentally break something in there or letting off some steam without his permission. Couldn't find a way to entertain them long enough to keep them interested, to keep them from leaving, to stop them from leaving _and_ taking a part of his heart with them, robbing him blind.

Five did that to him - _cute, little Number Five_ who'd been the only one to know about the mausoleum. Who'd been keeping him company in there, hidden from their father's eyes, seated right in front of him, his calm voice going straight to his heart where the screams of the ghost couldn't reach him.  
Until he disappeared one day, without any last words or baggage. Except for that little piece of his heart.

Ben did the same thing, twice even - first when they were 16 and then two years ago, after his ghost brother had told him he could no longer stand to watch how he was ruining himself and the people around him. Which Klaus answered to with overdosing and something along the lines of _"And I can't stand your dead ass anymore! You're not here anymore, you can't help me. You left me years ago and maybe it's time you finally accept you're dead and actually piss off! I don't need- I don't want you like that! I don't!"_  
After he'd come back from the dead - _thank you, dear emergency doctor, for fucking up every attempt at leaving this earth for good!_ \- there was no Ben anymore. First he thought it might be from the high, from overdosing, but after a few days, a few weeks without one single sign of life from his dead brother he realized Ben actually must've, against his better judgment, listened to Klaus' high-on-drugs request. No need to explain that things got pretty downhill from there on out, even more than before.

Klaus' heart is used to be played around with, by his siblings, by cute guys in discos or strange men in dark alleyways. Playing around with it, pulling at it, tearing some parts out. Until they get bored of it. And he knows the procedure like no one else, knows that eventually after _playing_ comes _breaking_.

There is nothing he wants more than to _break_. For someone to _break him_ and someone _he can break_.  
For a bittersweet symphony of breaking hearts and breaking bones, cutting words and cutted skin. A high to leave him breathless and ecstatic, as would a firm hand around his throat.  
And there is nobody he wants more than the one on top of him.

His hips move up against the other's, eliciting a loud moan from both of them. A small smile flickers across his lips as he stares up into his Master's face, which resembles a mix of anger, hurt, confusion and arousal. He holds the eye contact, his green eyes burning into brown one's and his heart beat fastens with want, pumping blood through his veins in need.

Nobody he rather wants to _break_.

"What would she think, hm? If she'd see us like that? Her little favorite and the junkie?" _Play with his heart._ "I bet she'd be so disappointed. _Disgusted._ "

"I said shut the fuck up, asshole!" His head is pulled back by his curls, with anger and such brutality that tears well up in his eyes.

Klaus grins through the desired pain, teeth and smugness. He's getting somewhere, finally.  
"Why, dear brother? Can't bear the _truth_?"

They both can't.  
That's why they landed here.

"You're _sick_. You're _abusing_ your poor, emotionally instable brother. Fuck, you're taking advantage and getting off on it," Klaus grimaced through the words closer to his heart than they should be. He glares up, losing composure for a split second. Then he adds, in a feigned sing-sang voice: "At least that's what she'd say if she'd still be he-"

"Don't talk about M-M-Mother that way. You don't know shit about her!" Fingers stretch over his throat, not quite pressing, rather pushing his chin up so that he is forced to let himself be showered with the hatred and rage sparkling in those brown eyes.

His grin only gets wider, pleased at the results. Pleased at the burning emotions radiating off his Master, pleased at seeing his calm and collected facade break, laying bare all the ugly bits and pieces hidden under the surface. All the _sickness_ oozing out of every single pore, boiling up to one big pile of unleashed rage, focused entirely on him.  
Pleased at the way his Master will hate himself for loving it. For wanting it.

They are similar, despite their contrastive roles.  
They both like broken things.

So now, _break his heart_.

"Mother? Oh, you hurt my feelings, brother dearest. Never would I dare to talk about _M-M-Mother_ like that," he retorts, voice a bit strained and breathless by the strong fingers squeezing warningly around his throat, making his heart ache with need and his nerves tense with anticipation, though it's _not fucking tight enough!_

The next words are barely a whisper, still they cut deeper than any screamed insult ever could.  
"I was talking about that… _detective bitch_ of yours. Bet she's happy she doesn't have to se—"

Dark curls went flying as the fist collides with his face, leaving a throbbing pain on his cheekbones and a metallic taste in his mouth.  
He laughs deliriously, spits out to the side, sprinkling the mattress cover slightly red in the process, right before his airway is cut off by the hand on his throat, pressing down on his carotid in all the right ways, urging him to push his lithe body up from the bed and against the other, pressing their hips together, rubbing their still clothed cocks against each other, feeling his Master's cock throb immediately in response to his tease.

A way too needy moan slips past the other's mouth. Klaus barely registers it between the blood rushing in his ears, but a brief gaze up into the flushed, tense face above him confirms what he already expected: It fucking turns him on and Klaus would have laughed at this revelation if he had the needed air for it in his lungs.

"Look who's the _bitch_ now." The voice was close to his ears, yet so far away. "Getting off on being strangled, you little fuck!"

Klaus' heart beat was echoing in his ears, rapid and loud, making it hard to understand the insults and degrading words pouring down at him.  
His mouth opens, a reflex of his lungs which are beginning to plead for air. The request remains unfulfilled.

"What? You want to say something, little brother? Want to _breathe_?"

Klaus' hands pull on their restraints, hard. He revels in the feeling of rope cutting into his sensitive skin. Fucking painful, yet so satisfying.  
His Master's free hand pulls his leather pants down, gruff and without much effort, baring him naked from his hips down to his ankles.  
There are fingers on his cock, short but intentionally, and he's glad for the lack of air saving him from letting out a helpless moan.

"Look at you. Fucking whore." A derisive laugh, two wet fingers at his entrance and Klaus jolts back for a second, only for the fingers to follow him relentlessly. He lets it happen. It adds to the nerve-wracking pain.

"You're the _sick_ one, Klaus. _You make me sick._ "

The voice fades out further, still the pure venom, the _hurt_ , carries through the words, reaches deep inside Klaus.  
Reaches deeper than those calloused fingers ever could.  
More satisfying than any finger or cock could make him feel.

"You're _broken_. You always were. A broken, rotten piece of shit."

He's getting dizzy, sight blurred at the corner of his vision, feeling every single nerve a thousand times more intense. The rope cutting into his skin, the still present pain of the punch to his face. The fingers, pressing against his throat and into him.

"That's why nobody wants you. Cause you're fucking broken."

It costs a huge amount of effort, the lack of oxygen fucking with his brain, but he manages a faint smirk. There's no need for words as he stares up one final time, stares into the face of a monster.

_You only ever want me when I'm broken._

Then his eyes flutter close.

**Author's Note:**

> Basic idea for this story:  
> -Klaus and Diego always had a kinda on/off sex relationship  
> -they are mentally fucked up due to their losses (Dave and Eudora) and they somehow try to fuck the pain away?  
> -Klaus is mostly high or drunk when they fuck, Diego nearly never initiates anything with him when he's sober (that's why he's thinking that Diego only wants him when he's "broken")  
> -one time Klaus wasn't really into it (because he grieves for Dave and wasn't in the mood) and Diego basically took advantage of him (not actually forced him, but pressured him, "convinced" him to have sex with him by saying that he'll feel better after and that it would help them both to forget their pain … and Klaus finally caved in).  
> -Diego isn't intentionally taking advantage of his brother, he's just too fucked up and lost in his own grief to understand the whole situation (They basically need a fucking long heart-to-heart talk, but not happening here, we're staying on the dark, angsty side with this one).  
> -Klaus, being completely fucked up by all his problems and feeling used by Diego, begins to turn his hatred and pain against Diego, trying to (sucessfully) manipulating him into physically hurting Klaus during sex, both for Klaus' own pleasure and because Klaus wants to show how much Diego enjoys it, how "sick" he is - basically trying to hurt and break Diego by guilt-tripping him. 
> 
> Sorry for that long-ass explanation, but I just felt the need to give you an insight about the "story frame" I wrote this in to maybe give the interaction between them more authenticity and logic.  
> Originally there was a second part planned (Diego's POV), where the "backstory" should be explained a bit, but I'm not sure if find enough time and motivation to actually write it, so that's why I wanted to tell you a bit about the basic idea here. 
> 
> I'm really curious how you felt about this story (as I said, it's not what I normally write), so let me know in the comments.


End file.
